


and him? he loved

by kinpika



Series: merde, je t’aime tant [14]
Category: My Candy Love
Genre: Castiel writing his love song, F/M, request on tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 07:17:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15601134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: And Castiel found that that thought was tender, warm. Hopeful.





	and him? he loved

Castiel wasn’t used to writing his own songs. Or, it would jus the better to say that it wasn’t his strongest point. He’d written heaps, of course, for all the wrong reasons, and for all the wrong people. Those particular songs were stored in notebooks, stuffed into a box, shoved under his bed. Something that he may never find again, or at least never hoped to.

This was different, however. Feelings took control of his hand, looping through words and meanings. Describing things Castiel wasn’t sure he was aware of himself (or maybe didn’t want to be completely aware of, not just yet). Beyond the simple platitudes, simple comments and descriptions that he may normally give.

Not longer just underlying feelings, as he was sure that he’d moved so far past that point, it was somewhere in the distance now. A line had been crossed, one Castiel hadn’t wanted to touch for a long, _long_ time. Yet there were no regrets, not when he thought about the colour of her hair, the shine in her eyes, the way her face would light up when she looked at _him_ — and _him_ , Castiel, of all people.

Words take their own path, and Castiel has to do several takes. Not because his voice was shaking, not because he wasn’t confident… but he’s overwhelmed. Was that the worst thing to happen to him, or the best? An outpouring of everything, bottled over a year, shaken and ready to go. 

Castiel let’s the song hang, until the last note from his guitar fades. Until he can force himself to press ‘stop’, to pack himself up. Let the song copy itself onto a USB, a little black stick that meant so much, and not a lot. 

Setting it down on the bedside table, Castiel just watches it, until sleep wants to take over. Tomorrow. His feelings would be laid open, and bare, and tomorrow would tell him if this was really _it_. The beginning. 

And Castiel found that that thought was tender, warm. Hopeful. 


End file.
